Shadow on the Wall
by sliceofperfection
Summary: Nine months after her wedding to Robert, Cora receives terrible news that propels her back overseas to New York. There, they learn how to overcome the inevitable suffering that comes with living, and realize the full extent of their feelings for one another. An AU young!Cobert story.
1. Gone are the days

_**This idea evolved from a prompt I happened to come across on the imagineyourotp tumblr site, and for some reason my brain applied it to Cobert. It is entirely AU (from what we know), but not too far out of reach. Anyway, I'm testing my abilities as a narrator, so I won't reveal the prompt until Ch 2 is posted to see if I can accurately convey the premise of the story (at least in part) to all of you. So hopefully it's not TERRIBLY confusing. Also, it should be noted this will be chalk full of angst, so it is not for the faint of heart. Enjoy, and as always your comments are much appreciated!**_

* * *

He rises with the sun at his father's request to join him for breakfast one morning. This abrupt arousal following a night of overindulgence greets him with a pounding headache, and a rumbling stomach. He wordlessly allows his valet to take charge in dressing him, not inviting any of the usual genial conversation they exchange. When their finished, he strolls down the corridor towards the main stairs and hears the pitter patter of footsteps from below, signaling the house is beginning to come alive as the staff makes preparations for the day.

Robert rubs the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, rounds the corner, and accidentally bumps into his wife outside her dressing room door.

"Oh I'm sorry," He offers apologetically, instinctively grabbing hold of her shoulders to steady her from the unexpected run in.

She lifts her brow, an amused smile gracing her lips. "Good Morning to you too, Robert."

He releases her, and they fall into a steady gait side by side. A few moments of silence pass between them before Cora wonders with an air of concern.

"And how are you feeling?"

A rush of heat spreads across his face as he recalls his less than gentlemanly demeanor the previous night. "I uhm...I'm alright, thank you." He hesitates before adding with his head hung forward, "I do apologize if I seemed a bit...uncouth last night. I didn't realize just how strong of a brand Papa had given me. At least...not until it was too late."

"Obviously not," She teases lightly. "I'll say I'm rather impressed you made it out of bed so early."

Robert casts a sideways glance in her direction, seeing her restrained smirk. Clearing his throat and rolling back shoulders to give off the impression he's not interested in indulging her taunting, he replies evenly, "Papa asked me to take breakfast with him."

"How curious," She intones softly while they descend the twisting staircase before shooting him a perplexed look, "your _Mother_ asked _me_ to take breakfast _with her_ this morning."

He stops at the second landing, silently wondering what all of it means. His Mother typically took breakfast in bed while Papa ate by his lonesome in the dining room. To have both of them awake at this hour as well as to request both the presence of Robert and his wife meant some serious discussion was to be had. With this impending notion, Robert reached up and massaged his temples with both thumb and forefinger. He wasn't in the mood to listen to one of his Mother's lectures, or hear about the marital duties Cora and he needed to improve upon.

"Robert?" Cora calls up to him from a few steps below.

He hears the rustling of her skirts then feels her hand at his forearm before glancing down at the worry in her face. He takes hold of her hand, and squeezes it to assuage the many inquiries regarding his health and well-being he expects lay on the tip of her tongue. "I'm fine," His fingers let go of hers as he presses onward, "just a bit of a headache."

"I'll have Mrs. Patmore bring up some aspirin," Cora tells him gingerly.

"You most certainly will not," Comes the shrill interruption of the Countess of Grantham as she stands tall at the top of the stairs.

Robert sees the color drain from his wife's face, her gaze shifting downward at his mother's sudden appearance.

His gaze flits back up to Mama, watching her hand effortlessly caress the polished marble banister, the fullness of her skirt billowing out while she gracefully advances down the stairs. Her sharp eyes train on Cora as she offers a counterargument to his wife's idea, "We will not have members of our _kitchen staff _rushing upstairs over such frivolous ailments." She then glances at Robert, and adds, "I'll will see that Palmer takes _the appropriate avenues_ to ensure you have some aspirin with your breakfast."

"Oh Mamma that really isn't necessary," Robert insists, taking a step closer to his wife.

"Nonsense," Violet flips a hand, intentionally stepping in between her son and daughter-in-law, who stand within just a few feet of one another. She snakes a seemingly reassuring arm around Cora's shoulders, the latter flinching at the unexpected contact. His mother drawls on in a mocking tone, "We cannot have your _darling_ wife unnecessarily worrying about your health." She lowers her voice an octave and then adds sternly, "Even if it's nothing more than a self-inflicted malady."

She removes herself from their presence, practically floating down the last few steps. With a brusque way of her hand, Violet has one of the footman by her side and she's delivering instructions on what should be done about her son's headache.

Robert looks back at his wife. Her once bright eyes so full of jest, now gazing despondently at the scene unfolding beneath them. Feeling somewhat responsible for the unresolved tension between his mother and wife, he takes a step forward and reaches for her arm. "Cora..." He begins quietly.

Not lifting her eyes to meet his, Cora takes a step back, and mutters almost inaudibly, "We'll be late for breakfast. And if there's one thing your Mother dislikes more than improper procedure, it's tardiness." She scuttles down the remaining steps and heads into the dining room without so much as a glance back at him.

Robert lets out a heavy sigh before trudging down the rest of the stairs, dreading this meal even more so than before.

Upon entering the dining room, everyone is settled in the usual seating arrangement. Robert reluctantly takes his place at his father's right, directly seated across from his mother and catty corner from his wife.

Cora looks up at him briefly before glancing back down in her bowl of porridge. He tries to silently recapture her gaze and offer some semblance of comfort or reassurance to her, but she purposefully keeps her eyes on the food in front of her. It's apparent she's still holding onto the slight his mother delivered a few moments ago. Just as it's clear he'll be required to smooth over the tension between both women.

He begins picking at the eggs that Carson brings him, trying to anticipate whatever it is his mother wishes to discuss with them. However, what he doesn't expect is her turning to Cora with a genuinely curious question.

"Any word from New York?"

Cora's spoon freezes in midair, her widened eyes shift from Robert then toward the Countess. Setting her utensil back against her dish, she inclines her head and replies, "I heard from, Cece, yesterday."

"Oh really? And how is your sister fairing?" Violet gushes with a keen interest that startles nearly everyone at the table.

"She's...doing well," Her daughter-in-law answers hesitantly.

Robert watches his mother stare back at his wife like she expects more of an answer whilst chewing on a bit of toast.

"But she did indicate she's more tired than usual," Cora supplements to break the awkward lull. "And that she's rather sore..."

"Oh my dear," Violet interjects swiftly, placing a hand on the young woman's sleeve, "we don't need to discuss _those_ finer details. Not whenever the gentleman are present." She pats Cora on the arm before retracting her hand and reaching for her teacup, "I was merely wondering if any progress had been made."

Looking back into her dish, Cora offers less than enthusiastically. "The doctor seems to think it could happen any day now."

"Your parents must be _so_ pleased," Violet practically croons.

"They are," Cora admits quietly, feeling another intense gaze wordlessly requesting more information from her. "Father ordered some handcrafted furniture from Pennsylvania to help get them started. And Mother's already made several orders to Milan and Paris about clothes for the christening. Although Cece's worried she's overindulging already, since they don't even know if it'll be a girl or boy."

"Oh well no expense should be spared when it comes to the first grandchild," Violet assures her plainly. "Besides your Mother could always send what your sister doesn't use here. I'm sure we'll have use of it in the near future."

Robert watches the color drain from Cora's face. For an instant he thinks there's some crucial development that has yet to be revealed to him. He sees the glee written across his mother's visage, but then notices the dullness in his wife's blue eyes. She discretely jerks her head in a gesture only he sees before turning her focus back to her porridge.

"All in good time, Mamma," Robert states evenly. "After all, we've been married for less than a year."

This earns a grateful smile from his wife. And he returns her thanks with a nod in her direction, thus giving her the confidence to add sweetly. "We've plenty of time. And it's not as though we haven't been thinking about..."

"Thinking?" Violet echoes in disbelief, dropping her bit of toast against the plate. "I should hope you've been doing more than just _thinking!" _Shifting her chair she rounds on both of them in a high pitched voice that appears to raise an octave with each word she utters. "The future of Downton rests entirely in your han..."

"Violet," Patrick Crawley growls from the head of the table, stunning everyone into silence. It's the first time he's made his presence known since they've all gathered round the table, and he sets aside his paper to regard his wife sternly. "It's far too early for an argument," He informs her in a lighter tone, dragging his own bowl of porridge directly in front of him.

"Who said I was arguing?" The Countess retorts in a semi-sweet voice. "I thought we were merely having a discussion," She pouts, clearly displeased to have lost this round to her generally mild mannered husband.

"This isn't the discussion we intended to have with them this morning," Patrick reminds her. His pale blue eyes travel between his son and his daughter-in-law before he explains plainly, "We wanted the pair of you to join us for breakfast because your Mother and I will be leaving for London shortly. This will leave the both of you in charge of running Downton in our absence."

It's the first time since he's taken a wife that his parents have left them with such a responsibility. And even though it's his birthright and a given, Robert still feels a surge of pride that he's finally to be entrusted to carry it out.

He watches Cora offer a polite smile as his mother goes on about how she need not worry about it falling to pieces without her help. It's meant to be reassuring, but in his mother's typical bluntness, the translation is lost upon his wife. His father must notice something this as he leans in closer to Robert and instructs him in a voice only his son can hear, "Perhaps you ought to take this time to do more than _just_ _think_ about a family. You know your mother won't rest until the future of Downton is truly secure."

"Papa it isn't that we haven't tried already..."

"You must try harder son. There's no measure for failure as far as this is concerned."

Feeling put out that his father truthfully shares in his mother's feelings about their lack of an heir thus far, Robert moves to lean back in his chair. But Patrick claps a hand on his son's shoulder, drawing him nearer and supplying quietly, "Try to do something out of the ordinary for her. Something she might find romantic. Women cannot resist a man who makes them feel loved."

Robert then casts his eye back over at his wife.

She stares intently at both men, her focus on the conversation with his mother dwindling. Not to arouse the budding nervousness threatening to spread across her expression, Robert extends his leg underneath the table until their feet brush. It's a telling gesture of reassurance and intimacy he tries to use as a distraction, not wanting her to further inquire about this particular exchange with his father.

It seemingly works as Cora beams at him from beneath her thick eyelashes, her lips curling inward to hold back the fullness of her smile. And with that, Robert begins to relax and the annoying pounding in his head starts to disappear.

* * *

After the tense breakfast with her in-laws Robert made an excuse about needing to check in with Dr. Clarkson that afternoon, leaving Cora to her own devices. She started to orchestrate the meal selections for the next several days, but every opinion she offered earned a disapproving look from Mrs. Pierce, the housekeeper. And while the woman didn't have authority over Cora in this house, it appeared she knew how to wield it more precisely than the interim lady of the house.

Several eye rolls and heavy sighs later, Mrs. Pierce _suggested _they kept the original proposed menus that Lady Grantham had constructed prior to departing for London. Looking for any possible escape route from this terribly pointless argument and avoid any additional awkwardness, Cora graciously complies and hurries upstairs to her dressing room.

There, she sits at her desk for several hours, writing to her remaining friends from New York before taking special care in constructing a letter to her sister, Cecelia.

She pours her heart out in regards to her discomfort around the Countess of Grantham, and all the inadequacies the other woman appears to stir up in her. She admits a certain fondness for her sister-in-law. But she's quick to include out of jest that Cecelia's position as her confidante remains in tact due to the long distance relationship she must also maintain with Rosamund.

She thinks about adding more of the conversation with the in-laws over breakfast, but decides against it. There would be no profit in confessing her distress on such a topic that is soon to cause her sister immense happiness. The only thing that would come of it is words of pity, and lamenting guilt from Cecelia. And Cora refuses to dampen Cecelia's buoyant mood that was so evidently conveyed in the former letter.

Instead Cora closes it by asking about Cecelia's husband, how Mother and Father are, and if Harold's been good to her and refraining from pulling pranks given her condition. She has no doubts that Cecelia will wax on endlessly and affectionately about the baby in her next letter. But she'll welcome every detail about her niece or nephew with great enthusiasm, despite her own misfortunes.

Growing up together the two Levinson girls shared everything. From birthday parties to ball gowns. Not to mention their most treasured secrets they had to keep from Mother, like stories about their first kisses. Their dreams and aspirations both in terms of a husband and as young women. They even shared a bed on those nights when it seemed like the whole world against them. Knowing there would always be one person who understood you so completely was a comforting notion.

Their lives had been so intertwined for eighteen years, but their separation of nearly ten months seemed agonizingly long. Especially in a house that barely felt like a home with a husband who couldn't love her as deeply as she loved him. Especially when she knew the rest of her life would be here at Downton, while Cecelia's would unfold back home in New York.

She didn't regret marrying Robert. She simply held onto the childish notion that Cecelia would find someone else whilst they toured London last year. That her sister would forget about the New York banker, and find a respectable Lord like she had. That they'd continue living the rest of their lives alongside one another, married to English Lords, their children growing up together just as they did.

Of course, it didn't unfold that way.

If it did, neither of them would have been truly happy. Cecelia gave her heart away long before the journey to London had been set. And despite the many English men who were charmed by her and her sister, Cora could see it would never be enough for Cece. So she encouraged her to return home and marry the handsome and charismatic banker. Just as Cece convinced her that there wouldn't be a man like Robert waiting for Cora back in New York.

A dull pain stretches along the length of her back, and Cora twists in her chair to alleviate the stiffness from being sedentary for so long. She looks up at the clock resting atop the nearby dresser to see most of the afternoon has slowly ticked by without her even realizing it. She wonders what her husband has been up to all this time. Surely a routine visit to Clarkson couldn't have cost him more than an hour. Unless of course, he had plans to avoid her until supper.

She understood the importance of spending time with one's self. In fact, she relished in the solace found in books and the comfort that came from writing letters to those most special to her. However, she hadn't anticipated both activities taking up most of her time when Lord and Lady Grantham left that morning. She hoped her husband would choose this time for them to be together more often than when his parents were at Downton.

And while it was only their first day alone with one another, she had begun to notice a reoccurring pattern with Robert's behavior. They'd be together during public events, sit and talk with one another before their nightly coupling, but he almost always seemed to be hurrying off to be by himself until duty again. His mind was often preoccupied, and she wasn't certain he always heard what she was saying. But she tried to brush it aside as nothing more than the difference between the sexes. After all, if she thought long and hard about it her Father would act similarly towards her Mother. And their love for one another was blatantly obvious.

But Robert's feelings towards her were another matter entirely. She wouldn't call him loving. Nor would she call him cruel. It was particularly difficult to identify what he was thinking or feeling. Part of her surmised it was because he was a private man, who'd rather keep such matters behind closed doors. However, she couldn't be certain if the door in question was the one leading to her bedroom or the one hidden deep within his heart.

Coming to the conclusion that she might have to seek him out if she wanted to abandon the quiet, Cora stands up and is about to leave when a brief knock accompanied by his voice causes her to freeze on the spot. "Come in!" She calls back to him, pretending to rearrange the many bottles that line the top of her vanity.

"Emma said you were in here all afternoon," He begins, soon adopting an air of concern. "Is everything alright?"

Whirling around to face him she smiles and nods, "Yes. I was just getting caught up some letters that were passed due."

"Oh I see," He looks down at his feet.

"Were you gone all afternoon?" She inquires softly, running her fingers along the back of her chair.

He hesitates but then admits, "Yes."

"My, Clarkson must have had patients lining up out the door today," She muses in an attempt to uncover the motives of his true absence from Downton.

"Actually I didn't see Clarkson this afternoon," He tells her swiftly.

Her mouth rounds into an ovular shape at this admission. Cora expected more resistance on his end, but for him to confess so readily catches her off guard.

"I-I just said that because I couldn't have you going with me."

She frowns, her once raised brow furrowing.

"That is, I bought you something. And I didn't want to spoil the surprise, so that's why I said I was going to see the doctor."

Her suspicions dissolve, and now she finds the nervous cadence to his words most endearing. "You bought me something?" She echoes in a sweet tone, "May I see it?" Her lips curl into a sly half grin as she stretches out an open palm for him to place a medium sized black velvet box there.

Cora carefully pries open the container to reveal a choker with at least for or five rows of black beads and gems. Her eyes scan over the beads that vary in every shape and size imaginable, yet still complimenting one another in a lovely fashion.

"I thought it was different than what you seem to have already," Robert explains uncertainly.

"It is," She agrees before glancing up at him reassuringly. "But it is very lovely. I'll be sure to tell Emma I'd like to wear it tonight."

"Oh you don't have to if you don't want..."

"Nonsense," She places her free hand on his arm and rises on tiptoe to deliver a kiss at his check. "It isn't everyday my husband showers me with such thoughtful gifts," She murmurs in his ear before turning to pace back across the room.

He pinches her sleeve between his fingers, prompting her to pivot towards him once more. She peers up into his soulful crystalline orbs, and a pang of guilt seizes her heart. She visibly sees him feeling her words heavier than she intends him to. Sensing his reservations on whether or not he should say something in reply to her comment, her arm curls around his and she smiles warmly.

His grip on her arm loosens and Cora peers down between them to see his hand lightly tracing along the length of her arm before their hands meet. "I've been thinking..." He pauses, and she looks up at him expectantly, trying not to look too disappointed when he finishes the thought with, "...perhaps we could go for a walk after supper? We haven't done that in a while. And with Mamma and Pappa away, well, I'd like for us to spend more time together."

The hair on the back of her arms stand on end as she feels he's somehow read her earlier thoughts. And with this, Cora feels a sharp twisting inside of her chest before her heart skips a beat. Their new found synchronization of thoughts makes her think of Cecelia, and for some odd reason she's saddened by the idea of sister. Her stomach churns, and a sense of enigmatic dread washes through her body.

Her vision goes fuzzy and she carelessly drops the jewelry box as her arm reaches to clutch Robert's other arm. Her legs feel weak, but she holds fast to him. Suddenly everything feels out of focus and she can't remember where she is or why.

It's not until he's wrapped both of his arms around her waist that she realize Robert's speaking to her. "Cora? What is it? What's wrong?"

Slowly shaking her head, Cora steps out of his comforting embrace. Placing a hand at her forehead, she starts feels an overwhelming sadness crept up on her that she struggles to keep at bay.

"Are you not well darling?" Comes Robert's voice of total concern again, "Should I send for the doctor?"

"No," She blindly clasps his hand before the other one rests on her vanity chair for additional support, "no, that's not necessary."

Both of his hands press hers firmly into his chest, "Well then can you tell me what's wrong? You're shaking."

She didn't notice until he brought it to her attention. Then she tries with everything in her not to let these sensations rule over her entirely. "I-I don't know how to without sounding like a mad woman."

"Please try," He insists, easing her back down onto the chair. He then kneels in front of her, and she reads the anxiousness in his visage at the sudden change in her physical demeanor.

It's quite an impossible thing to explain. Cecelia and her tried to express the sensation many times when this very thing occurred with them. But mostly they were met with puzzling looks, and then overhead hushed whispers in regards to how eerily in sync the Levinson sisters were with each other's thoughts and feelings.

But this is her husband. The man she's supposed to love and trust more than anyone else in her life. And she wants to, especially with this. Especially since he knows just how deep of a bond Cece and her share. So she inhales a shaky breath, her hand desperately clutching his as if it's the only thing anchoring her.

"I-I just had the most terrible feeling that something bad has happened to Cece. I think she's...left us," As she speaks the words out loud, her bottom lip begins to tremble. "I know it must seem incredibly insane to you but..."

"Cora," He cups the side of her face with his hand, silencing any ramblings that might soon turn hysterical. "It's alright to worry about your sister," He remarks soothingly. "She's going through something rather life alternating, and you aren't able to be there with her like you'd want to be." His thumb lightly caresses her cheek, making her feel more at ease now than she ever thought possible. "I'm sure that's all it is."

Even though her intuition tells her otherwise, there's something convincing in Robert's reassuring gesture and his words that makes her want to believe he's right. So she tries to show her gratitude with a soft kiss at his palm before remarking softly, "I think a walk after dinner would do us some good."

* * *

He opts they take a stroll along the western edge of the property. It's the most unfamiliar to Cora, as it isn't full of many splendors like the other side of the estate. But there's a swing underneath a particular oak tree that rest atop a valley that was once filled with water. He points it out and explains how as children Rosamund and him would swing into the watering hole below. When she remarks that it appears to be an unsafe venture, he agrees by citing the reason Mamma had the small body of water removed was because he broke his arm as a boy.

She then inquires about a stone building cast off in the distance. He explains it was once a chapel used by his ancestors for Sunday service. Now it only held mass on high holy days, and other significant occasions they wished to remain private. He looks to, but doesn't mention, the tiny cemetery where most of his ancestors lay to rest and how it's sequestered off a few yards beyond the building.

They move towards the grove of trees that line the edge of the property. The rays of the sun splinter through the gaps in the branches, casting a warm glow on the path they're currently taking.

"Dinner was marvelous," Cora states for the fourth or fifth time that evening already. They walk further down the path a few more paces until she inquires, "Do you think Carson will send my compliments to Mrs. O'Hare?"

"He will," Robert assures her. "Carson's one of the most competent footmen we have. I keep telling him he'll have Banks' position one day."

"Well I think Carson would make a fine butler," She agrees before chuckling in a self-effacing manner. "Not that my opinion truly counts for anything."

He wonders if her words are directed to his mother's earlier insinuations, or something larger entirely. In an effort to keep the tone of their evening lighthearted and steer clear of any strong emotional displays, he replies neutrally. "I wouldn't say that. I think your opinion matters a great deal. Isn't that enough?"

"It should be." She shrugs, but her hands remain folded around his left arm. Casting a sideways glance in her direction, Robert notes the faraway look in her visage.

_But it isn't. _He finishes the thought for her while reflecting on what the larger meaning behind her words entails. He's beginning to learn there's always an undercurrent of secrecy underneath his wife's words. A trait his father assures him is ingrained in all women.

So he treads forward carefully in assuming, "I'm sorry about what Mamma said to you at breakfast."

"You don't need to be sorry, Robert," She insists halfheartedly. "You can't control what your mother says to me." There's a lull in the conversation before she continues on confidently, "Besides, it'll happen when it's meant to."

She believes in it so easily. He wishes he could. While he doesn't thing there's anything that renders them incapable of conceiving, there's a certain pressure placed on both of them he wish could be alleviated. It seems everyone who married shortly before or after them has a child or is expecting one. Not that he's eager to be responsible for another living soul, and guiding him or her to prosperous future. If anything, he longs for the repose from his mother's critical eye and sharp remarks in regards to his relationship with Cora. And a grandchild would give both him and Cora such a reprieve.

"It will," Robert replies uneasily. In order to crush any additional feelings of doubt that might seize her, he discloses his feelings on the matter. "However, I don't think you give yourself enough credit. I believe it takes along time for one to grow accustomed to a new way of living."

He glances over at her to ensure she's truly listening before acknowledging, "If the roles were reversed and we were living in New York, I'd be lost at every corner I turned, and no doubt, displeasing your father in everything I said and did."

"Don't be ridiculous," She practically scoffs at how ridiculous the whole scenario sounds in comparison, "you'd have me as your guide. And my father loves you."

"Not as much as he loves you," Robert nudges her in the side with his elbow.

"Well," She tilts her head to the side as though considering it prior to agreeing with a slight lilt in her tone, "this is true."

He finds her expression charming, and a chuckle ripples through his words, "My point is, you shouldn't let what Mamma says to you cause you any sort of distress. She's only punishing me by taking it out on you because I married who I wanted instead of who she wanted me to."

"And how would that punish _you_?"

"Because she knows how I...how I feel...about you," He returns in a somewhat uncomfortable fashion.

"And how do you...feel about me?" She probes tentatively, almost unsure she wants to hear his answer.

His heart pounds mercilessly behind his ribcage, and he fears one of them might burst from the sheer intensity her inquiry stirs up in him. His mind draws a definite blank, and he feels his face burn hot from the stifling quiet that comes between them. He stops suddenly, prompting Cora to gaze up at him hopefully.

When the hope in her widened blue eyes starts to dwindle, he thinks of the first possible compliment he can provide. "I uh...I meant to tell you at dinner, but I couldn't find the time...you look absolutely lovely in that dress."

Cora blushes so deeply it nearly matches the silk rogue of her gown. Her face angles forward, and his eyes revisit the plunging neckline that's trimmed with black lace. When their gazes meet once more, he pretends to be regarding the black beaded choker that now lines her neck.

She must have noticed him staring because she now hums flirtatiously, "It matches my necklace rather nicely, don't you think?" Tilting back her head to expose the length of her neck, Robert can't help but find his eyes wandering back to the tight bodice that showcases her feminine curves.

It takes everything in him to contain his desires. He stammers, "I...yes. It does."

When her behavior doesn't produce the desired effect Cora lowers her jaw, and wraps her arms around his waist. "Robert?" She peers up at him coyly, "Will you kiss me?"

"Cora, not _here_!" He laughs nervously, his hands resting on her arms like he's about to pry her from his body.

"And why not?" She challenges as her mouth curls into a half smirk. "Look, I know you aren't particularly fond of doing this sort of thing outside of my dressing room. But it's not as though anyone is around to..."

Perhaps it's the teasing quality in her voice. Or the fact that her bodice is tighter than usual and aptly displaying her best assets. Or maybe that it's been so long since he's truly enjoyed the feel of her lips against his own. Whatever the reason might be, Robert complies with her request and kisses her abruptly, cutting off the rest of her sentence.

His hands palm either side of her face, angling it back further as their lips part in a familiar unison. He draws out a few more kisses from her before the sensation becomes to much to bear, and he fears of losing all semblance of composure. Once he breaks contact with her lips his nose brushes over hers while he mutters enticingly, "You were saying, my dear?"

Her eyelids flutter open and closed as she tries to regain her balance. "I uh...I'm not quite sure."

Robert smiles at his ability to be her undoing. He's about to offer a snide comment whenever a faint cry is heard from just beyond the edge of the trees encasing them. He turns away from his wife, instantly stepping in front of her as a precaution. Cora holds tightly to his outstretched arm, and he notices her trying to match his line of vision. Both of them relax a considerable amount once they hear a familiar voice addressing them by name.

He starts towards Carson's voice, hearing Cora closely following behind him. Robert meets the dutiful footman with haste against the backdrop of the waning twilight. They stop just beside the stone building he pointed out to his wife a few moments ago.

Carson regards both of them with a slight nod of his head in an effort to catch his breath before he must mumble his apologies. "Lord Downton, Milady, I am sorry for the intrusion but..." He steadies himself momentarily to look warily between him and Cora.

"Carson? What is it?" Robert frowns, feeling a certain ominous sensation by the footman's intrusion on their evening stroll.

Clearing his throat, he can sense the footman's discomfort when he looks to Cora momentarily before addressing him directly. "An urgent telegram has just arrived..." There's a pause before he finishes with his eye resting upon Cora, "...from New York, M'Lady."

He tries to pass the envelope to Cora, but she seems frozen with a similar anxiety Robert witnessed earlier in her dressing room. Robert takes it instead, and dismisses the young man with a silent bob of his head.

Once they are alone, he notices his wife retreat back to her earlier demeanor. Her expression pales, and he sees her lower lip tremble whenever she fixates on the envelope in his hands. He's torn between opening the message to reveal its contents and reaching out to steady her. Reaching for her again, he's about the choose the latter when she requests him to do the former.

"Tell me, what does it say?" There's a notable tremor throughout her words.

Although he has a sinking suspicion she already knows what the message reads, Robert unfolds the slip of paper to read the words:

_A. Lady Downton._

_We regret to inform you that Cece has left our world. __Burial in 3 days. Her boy lives._

The clipped words from the Levinsons do nothing to provide any comfort. Peeking up at his wife tentatively with a regrettable smile is all it takes to spur her into a downward spiral of grief.

Cora closes her eyes, a crushing exhalation overcoming her, "My sister's dead, isn't she?"

He looks back to the envelope and piece of paper in his hands. Barely speaking loud enough for her to hear, Robert confirms her conjecture.

* * *

After Robert's finished delivering the tragic news, and in a single exhalation of her name she can feel the remorse that encompasses him as well. His hand skates across her shoulder blades, but she shies away from his comforting touch.

Shuffling passed him, Cora reaches for the sturdy stone pillar of the building they happened upon during their walk this evening. _An old chapel, mostly used for funerals,_ she recalls Robert explaining its existence to her when she asked in the early days of their courtship. Now her nails dig almost painfully into the stonework as she tries to keep herself erect. The sharp sensation that shoots through her heart suffocates any cries of grief threatening to spring forth from her dry lips.

Her eyes focus on the wildflowers waving to her almost mockingly as a warm summer night's breeze passes through them. They were children of summer as the newest addition of their family was to be. And yet the yellow blossoms that once seemed so cheery, the red buds that would burst fiercely, and the soothing violets that would inevitably calm a free spirit now blurred into a colorful haze as Cora's overcome by silent tears.

Stumbling forward a few paces, her cheek scratches against the rough exterior of the chapel wall. Her lungs burn from the screams she can't let out, and she feels her legs slowly crumble beneath her from the overwhelming sadness that weighs her down. A few of her fingernails break against the stones, and she cries out from the physical nature of this unexpected injury. And yet, a few splintered nails are nothing in comparison to the devastating news that rips her heart in two.

None of it feels real.

Not even Robert's strong arms encircling her trembling form, or him drawing her into his chest. She lets him slowly guide their bodies down onto the dewy grass, wanting the earth to just swallow them whole.

He can't remember a time in his life where he's witnessed such gut wrenching sobs coming from another person as he is currently. In fact, he can't even recall his wife of nine months ever crying in his presence. And this sudden emotional display pains him in ways he cannot rationalize to see her in such a helpless state.

She clings to him like a child would a parent as the tears rage on. Her fists clutch tightly to the front of his jacket, threatening to tear it from his body if he so much as tries to pull away from her.

Not that he would. Not when one of the most fundamental parts of her former life has been taken so swiftly from her. Not when he comes to realize he's all she has at the moment. And while he doesn't love her, this is a fate he wouldn't even wish on his worst enemies. If he could place all of her pain on himself and leave her free of such torment, he would within the blink of an eye.

But all he can do is cradle her in his arms, and place a soft kiss at the crown of her head. He closes his eyes, inhaling the flowery scent of her perfume that smells bitter in comparison to the usual trail of sweetness it leaves against his sheets following their nightly coupling.

She murmurs incoherently into the front of his chest, her breaths coming in and out at jagged intervals. "I don't...mean...to make you...uncomfortable. I'm sorry...I'm sorry...you should go...you should...you..." Cora sits up in his lap, releasing her grip on the front of his jacket.

"And where would I possibly go, Cora?" His arms tighten around her shaking form and Robert replies in the softest voice she's ever heard him use. "Where would you go at this hour?"

Casting her glance off to the side, she shakes her head slowly and wipes away the streaks of moisture from her face. "I don't...I don't know but..." She untangles her body from his, and slowly attempts to stand with his assistance. Her legs still feel rubbery, and she leans into his side to steady herself.

"I must go home..." She croaks in a pitiful voice, her sobbing fits having ceased. "...Robert, please." Her head rests underneath his arm as he helps her walk slowly back the way they came. "Let me go home. I need to go home. Please, let me go."

He nods understandingly, although she cannot see it. So he replies in kind agreement, "I'll take you home. I'll make all of the arrangements in the morning."

"You don't have to...you could stay here at Downton..." She protests weakly, but he interrupts firmly.

"Nonsense. You are my wife now. What's yours is mine, and what's mine is yours. All of the good things as well as the bad, alright?"

He feels her head bob gratefully against him. And even though a vast expanse of darkness stretches out ahead of them, the journey back to Downton doesn't seem as terrifying with them going at it together.

* * *

_**Sorry this was so terribly long. I suck at being succinct. Also, I apologize for any glaring grammar mistakes...I wrote this over the course of a couple of days, and was too lazy to edit it the whole way through after I'd done the individual parts. **_


	2. Broken half of a whole

He thought once they returned to the house, she'd continue to let it all out until sleep consumed her. However when they crossed the threshold of the saloon, something inside of Cora snaps, and Robert can scarcely believe he's looking at the same grief stricken woman who collapsed in his arms moments ago. Shrugging out of his comforting grasp, she picks up her skirts and gestures for Mr. Palmer to follow her whilst she strides purposefully towards the main staircase.

"I'm sure you've already heard the news about my sister, Mr. Palmer," Cora asserts plainly, not slowing her gait.

"Yes Lady Downton," He bows his head and offers in an usually remorseful tone, "and I speak for all of the staff when I say how deeply sorry we..."

"Yes, yes, thank you." She interrupts brusquely before delivering her clipped instructions, "I'm sure you've gathered I'd like to be on the next steamer out to New York so if you could please, make the necessary arrangements."

"Should I..." Palmer begins his inquiry, halting her progress upstairs, "...inquire about a round trip ticket, Milady?"

"No," She responds impulsively. "One way trip for two, if you please."

Robert opens his mouth to offer a different opinion whenever, she adds with finality, "And I'd like to know what the travel arrangements are in the next hour."

"Forgive me, Milady but the offices are all closed for the evening..."

"I didn't ask to hear any excuses," Cora returns sharply. "I merely requested to know when we will be leaving for New York so that Lord Downton and I might more easily prepare..."

"Cora," Robert intones softly, his mouth dropping open at the unexpected severity in her response. Knitting his brow together, he carefully explains, "I'm afraid, Mr. Palmer's right. We won't know until morning when..."

"Fine," She concludes, not even bothering to hear the rest of his thought. Looking back to Palmer, she nods her head and insists, "Please notify me when you do manage to procure the travel arrangements, Mr. Palmer. Good night." Nodding at him her silent thanks, Cora disappears the rest of the way upstairs rather hurriedly.

Robert studies her retreating figure, trying to make sense of the sudden change in his wife's demeanor. He's never heard her speak to any of their staff in such a demanding tone before. And while she's not really stepping out of her rights to do so, her handling of Palmer still surprised him.

He then hears the old man clear his throat and inquire, "Will there be anything else, Milord?"

"Yes," Robert suddenly speaks up upon remembering the exchange at breakfast, "please send word to Grantham House that Lady Downton and I will be leaving immediately for America. We may need you to run things until Lord Grantham can return home."

"Of course, Milord," Palmer nods without a beat of hesitation, his chest filling up with a certain pride at this notion.

They both nod, and are about to part ways at the staircase whenever Robert feels the need to speak up again. "And Palmer," He turns from his place on the staircase, and regards the older man with a somewhat apologetic look, "please forgive Lady Downton's abrupt instructions. We both do sincerely appreciate and accept any condolences you and the rest of the staff have to offer. I'd hate for you to think otherwise."

Blinking back in surprise, Palmer then lowers his gaze and shakes his head. "There's nothing to forgive, Milord. I suppose Lady Downton is merely anxious to go home, and spend time with her family."

"Yes, I'm sure that's all it is. Thank you," Robert bobs his head in agreement. "And could you please tell Phillips that I can put myself to bed this evening?"

"Certainly Milord. Goodnight," The old man supplies before trudging to the downstairs servants quarters.

Robert turns back on course with plans to meet his wife upstairs. He knocks lightly on her dressing room door, his stomach in knots as he waits for her response. When he's met with nothing more than silence on the other side of the door, Robert slowly twists the knob, and tentatively steps inside. His eyes momentarily adjust to the dim glow coming from the fireplace, and their gazes meet only briefly from across the room.

"Have you called Emma to help you to bed?" He inquires softly upon realizing she's still dressed in her red gown.

"I'm not tired," She remarks flatly before turning away from him. She focuses her attention to the open doors of her closet, shuffling around the various dresses hanging in there and examining certain ones before fully taking them out and tossing them on her bed.

It takes him a minute to realize that she's readying all of her black for the next several months. He paces around the bed, and stops beside her. "Darling," He reaches for her shoulder as she takes a few more pieces from the closet and throws them onto the pile with more force than all of the others. But despite his attempt to pull her attention back, Cora doesn't respond to him.

Retracting his hand, Robert stuffs it in his pocket. "Cora," He begins gently, "you know, you don't have to do this tonight."

"Yes, I do. I haven't had to wear full black since Granny died, and that was nearly four years ago. I doubt I have anything that still fits," She replies evenly, while she continues to rip her entire collection of black out of her extensive wardrobe.

Her movements are frantic and careless as the clothes collect in a messy heap on her bed. She doesn't seem to care if they wrinkle, or if some of the beads fall loose and scatter across the floor. With each dress or skirt that lands in the pile, her stony resolve crumbles even further.

His stomach knots uncomfortably to see her in such a state. But he's soon distracted by one of the dresses that slips down the front of her body, causing her to nearly fall en route to the bed once more. With this more visible stumble, she grunts irritably while depositing the latest pieces. Robert bends over to pick up the dress, meeting his wife's bewildered expression when he stands to full height once more. He drapes the black evening gown across his arms, and presents it to her.

"Thank you," Cora murmurs quietly, lowering her eyes and taking it from his outstretched arms. She carefully sets it apart from the rest of the mound on top of the bed.

He watches her run her hands over this particular dress for several seconds, and he wonders if there's a particular significance attached to it. Her shoulders tense, and for a minute he wonders if she's going to dissolve into another fit of tears. Robert steps forward, casting a tentative gaze in his wife's direction.

She doesn't look up at him, but her eyes shift towards her periphery as if sensing his nearby presence. Swallowing back her emotions, she lightly fingers the sheer fabric of the dark violet sleeves that appear almost black in the flickering light coming from the fireplace. "It was hers," She explains, a ripple of disbelief echoing through her words. Shaking her head slowly, she admits sadly, "I'd forgotten that she gave it me just before I left."

Chewing on her bottom lip, she wipes at the corner of her eyes and blinks rapidly to erase any more evidence of tears forming. Sniffing back her emotions, an airy gasp that borders along the lines of a soft peal of laughter emits from her throat. "She told me it looked better on me anyway," Her words come out, punctuated by a sardonic amusement. "Which is really quite absurd when you think about it but..."

Her voice cuts off by another jagged intake of breath.

He studies her downcast profile, racking his brain for some phrase that will provide her comfort. But nothing of any true significance comes to mind. So instead Robert fishes his hand out of his pocket, and tentatively cups her shoulder firmly.

Cora inhales sharply at the unexpected contact. But after several seconds she exhales a lengthy sigh, relaxing against his touch. Her arm curls up until her hand covers his, and she squeezes it to display her gratitude she can't otherwise convey at present.

He takes a step forward with the intention of bringing her into his arms once more.

However, she pulls away from him, and clears her throat, "I must ring for Emma. I need to see what fits, and what needs altered." She turns towards the rope hanging on the side of her bed, and tugs on it.

"Cora," He speaks up mildly.

She whirls around to face him, startling him with her red rimmed eyes and lips drawn into a straight line. He suddenly feels his mind draw a blank under her severe gaze.

Fumbling for the right words, he eventually settles on, "What can I do? To help?"

Cora returns his warmth with a perplexed expression. Opening and closing her mouth several times in succession, her steely expression falters for an instant. Letting out a dejected breath, she replies in the same clipped voice that she regarded Palmer with moments ago. "Just...get your things ready...if you still want to go."

"Of course I want to go," Robert mutters, reaching out to gently stroke the side of her face.

A stream of light shoots from the outside corridor, prompting his arm to fall back against his leg.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Milady, Milord," Emma apologies from intruding upon their private moment.

"No need to be sorry, Emma," Cora insists plainly. "Lord Downton was merely saying goodnight."

The dismissive nature of her tone, albeit intentional or not, still manages to cut through him. Once she turns back to the dresses on her and begins explaining what she needs from her ladies maid, he tries to rationalize why her grief's taken this new form. As he bows out of her room and returns to the privacy of his own dressing room, Robert knows he must reserve his energy for other concrete tasks.

So he shoves aside his own pride very much like the doors of his closet, and begins the task of readying himself for the other journey that's to come.

* * *

There's a heaviness that now surrounds the air around them, suffocating the little energy she has left in her this evening. Once he's gone, Cora feels like she can breathe easily.

She could sense his looks full of heartache and guilt, tracking her every move since they returned to Downton. His looks of pity and remorse were something she couldn't face. Not now. Not when there was so much to be done.

So she did her best to appear grateful for his gentle touch and comforting words, but not excessively. To give him anymore would result in another display of hysteria. And she couldn't afford to waste anymore time or energy on such things.

Her Mother told her to be alone with her grief. To cry in the solitude of her own bedroom, or even further away from her husband if altogether possible. _Men turn into helpless, little boys at the sight of a woman's tears. Particularly the woman they love._ But Robert didn't love her. Or did...

Her thoughts are interrupted by the dress, Emma dutifully presents at her feet. Cora steps into the opening, watching the sheath of black rise up around her as she slides her arms through the sleeves. She hardly notices the pinching sensation underneath her shoulders which suggests the bodice needs let out a bit. She only half listens to her ladies maid while the young woman explains how she'll remedy this particular gown to fit her as it once did. The particulars of her wardrobe no longer interest her. She'll merely be another girl in black for the next several months.

Cora catches a glimpse of her reflection, the first since her return to the house. There's a puffiness surrounding her eyes from the harsh tears. Her hair, once centered atop her head, now droops off to the left. A reddened scratch mars her cheek, and she winces to discover a bruise has formed when she lightly touches the spot.

Then the incident on the grounds flashes to the forefront of her mind's eye again.

Her reaching for something sturdy to keep afloat, and stumbling into the old chapel. The one her husband explained was used for funerals hundreds of years prior. She'd laugh at the irony if her throat didn't feel so raw.

His reaction dawns upon her, causing her mind to whirl. So uncharacteristically tender, yet so rightfully determined to capture her in his strong arms. She shudders from vulnerability this memory stirs within her, catching Emma off guard.

"Did I stick you, Milady?" The young woman peers up from her place at the floor, her face flooding with nerves.

At first, Cora fails to understand the meaning behind the words. But her eyes take in the silken pink pin cushion, and it becomes evident that the blonde haired woman is now realigning the hem of her skirt. "No Emma," She shakes her head. "No, I'm fine," She replies, trying to mean the words.

But even if her maid did prick her soft skin with a needle, Cora doubts she'd feel a thing.

* * *

The rest of the night lags on at an agonizingly slow pace. The sun doesn't appear to share in his urgency for a new day to begin. Still, Robert manages to catch some sleep.

Albeit, when he awakens a few hours later, he feels more ill rested than he did the previous night. He rings for Phillips, whom, after a night of lugging the traveling cases from the attic with Carson, appears just as ragged as the young Lord. And they don't engage in the usual genial conversation for a second morning (well in today's case, early afternoon) in succession.

He expects to find Palmer slowly pacing the floor of the main saloon, and isn't disappointed. However, when he happens upon the butler, his instructions to set up tea in the library are already dismissed by the news that it's waiting in there for him. Along with his wife.

"Lady Downton's awake?" Robert questions, arching a brow.

Surely that can't be right. He pitifully watched the light from the crack beneath her dressing room door flicker tirelessly, even just before sleep claimed him.

"Yes, Milord," Palmer explains, escorting him down the corridor. "She woke rather early this morning, inquiring about the status of the trip to New York."

Of course she did, Robert nods his head, not altogether surprised. "Should I expect the full report from her then?" He wonders with an air of curiosity.

"If you'd like me to go over it again..." Palmer begins, his hand on the doorknob to the library.

"No, that's not necessary, thank you," Robert assures, waving his hand in dismissal just as Palmer opens the door and announces to Cora that he's arrived.

He regards her seated form warily, unsure of how they should now approach one another after the events of last night.

Her gaze holds his steadily, which gives him the confidence to lean forward and plant a chaste kiss at her cheek in greeting. "Hello, darling. You're looking well." His eyes briefly take in her expertly arranged raven curls, that are further complimented by the high collared tea gown she wears. Despite the occasion, he's always thought she makes black a rather attractive color.

"Thank you," She replies quietly, her gaze focusing on the table in between the two chairs. "Tea?" She lifts her eyes a fraction to take in his silent response before lowering the spout of the silver teapot and filling his cup more than halfway.

He plops one cube of sugar in his drink, and watches it dissolve in the hot liquid. Robert takes a slow sip, places a few biscuits on his plate, and takes a bite out of one. He does everything he can think of to fill the awkward quiet without his behavior appearing peculiar.

Once he swallows the sweet tasting dough, Robert smiles weakly up at Cora. "So erm," He clears his throat, "Palmer's travel arrangements are to your liking?"

She shrugs, her corners of her mouth dipping down, "I suppose he did the best he could." Reaching for her teacup, she notices when he merely stares at her probingly. "He didn't mention...?" She begins in a questioning tone, but then nods once he answers her with a shake of his head.

He watches her forefinger run clockwise around the rim of the floral patterned china. A gesticulation that would no doubt set off his mother's nerves. But he doesn't mention this, and merely listens intently as she relays the plans the butler's made for them.

"We're to take _The Majestic_ out of Liverpool the day after tomorrow. It's supposed to be her maiden voyage. Palmer seems to think this will get us there faster," She pauses skeptically.

"Yes," Robert nods in agreement, "the White Star Line will certainly try and beat their latest record of nearly eight days if this is indeed her maiden voyage."

Cora rolls her eyes at this, continuing on rather indifferently. "Anyway, he suggested we take the afternoon train tomorrow so that we might arrive in Liverpool comfortably before we set sail."

"I think that's reasonable," He relays encouragingly. Then it occurs to him, "Have you written your Mother of our plans yet?"

She takes a sip of tea, and once it's safely returned to its rightful place on her saucer, she answers tersely. "Yes, although I doubt she'll care very much when we arrive. Given it'll be several days following the burial."

Her words may not intend to cause a pang of guilt to shoot within his heart, but he feels them heavily. He wants her to know that he feels responsible for robbing her of such a pivotal moment in her life. If not to clear his conscience, but rather to dispel the irritable nature she exhibits in his presence as of late.

His hand skates across the top of the table, covering hers in a single motion. Her attention directs to him once more, and he tells her softly, "You know if I could find a way to have you there tomorrow, I would."

For a split second, it appears his words produce the desired effect. Her brow inverts, the iciness in her blue eyes dissolving while her lips part as if to tell him that she knows. She knows and she's forever grateful that he feels this way.

In lieu of such a warm reception, his hand thuds against the tabletop when she pulls away from him. And he's met with, "Well that's not possible. Not even the _Earl of Grantham_ could manage that."

"I know that but..." His words suddenly fail him.

He wants to strike back with something as equally hurtful. But his once darling and demure wife has stunned him into silence with her harsh, mocking words. Robert supposes he's merely an easy target for all the anger she feels at having lost a sister far too soon.

Still, he refuses to let her take him down just because it's easy. Forcefully tossing his serviette onto the floor, his chair flips back when he stands rather abruptly and rattles the table as his knees come into contact. "Argh!" He growls through gritted teeth from the pain felt deep in his bones. His hand comes down on the tabletop, causing it to quake and his wife to nearly jump out of her seat.

He sees the vacancy in her eyes replaced with terror at this level of violence her generally calm husband now displays. And while his anger was merely a reaction to self-inflicted pain, he's glad to see it take shape in her visage. Glad to see her showcase some level of emotion beyond her mask of apathy she's fallen into.

Robert purposefully clears his throat, and brushes the spots of tea from the front of his trousers. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to..."

However, when he glances up, he sees the door to the library swinging shut and the seat opposite of him empty. He lets out a frustrated sigh at this seemingly insignificant turn of events. He hoped _The Majestic_ moved more hastily than it's predecessor. For it was clear to him they could barely spent a half hour together let alone seven days.

* * *

Cora lets out another lengthy sigh, leaning her elbows against the cool railing of the top deck. She shivers from the combination of metal against her bare forearms, and the evening winds that whip around her once the ship breaks through one wave to the next. Despite this, she insists on being outside the confines of her stateroom to watch the sunset.

No, she mentally corrects, _their_ stateroom.

This distinction's important to remembers. It's frowned upon for a women of her status in such a society to have an identity separate from her husband. When they married, what was once regarded as _hers _should hence fore be known as _theirs_. Actively thinking about it allows her to adapt to this mentality when specifically asked by one of her peers, about her life at Downton. Or about anything in respect to her life both present and future.

What's hers was his, and his is hers. The good and the bad. She recalls him mentioning something to that affect prior to their departure. Although he probably meant it to be soothing whereas it now consumes her bitter thoughts that recall her shared past with Cecelia.

Even prior to marrying Robert, she'd never thought of her life in the singular sense. Cecelia gave it a plurality by simply being. And upon her death, that part of Cora died too. She never felt less than whole in her entire life. Yet somehow she'd be forced to go on, in spite of the gaping hole in her chest where Cecelia once lived.

Cora watches as the sun bleeds many reds and oranges across the choppy waves on the horizon. It appears like the giant star will disappear forever behind the ends of the Earth. However, she knows this isn't true.

Like all things in the universe the sun's presence was cyclical, and she didn't foresee a world where it wouldn't rise the next day. Then again, she couldn't predict Cecelia's death either (aside from the foreboding feeling that seized her earlier that fateful day). She, like most individuals, couldn't know what her future would hold. And she found this detail both comforting and disconcerting in equal parts.

Her lack of mystic premonition might have come in handy when a heavy cloak unexpectedly surrounds both of her shoulders, almost startling her out of her skin. Cora brings back her arm in defense before whirling around to take in the presence of her husband, hunched forward and wincing.

"Oh Robert," She gasps, clutching her chest as if it will bring her heart rate to normal. "I'm sorry," She practically kneels down in front of him, holding tight to both of his shoulders. Abject horror crosses her expression once she realizes that she's just elbowed him in the stomach. Her mouth pulls into a tight line, this time fused together out of embarrassment. "I'm so, so, sorry. Here," She jerks her head in the direction of a set of abandoned, cushioned chairs on the deck. "Let's sit."

He continues to cough while they shuffle towards the seats. Judging by his lack of response to her many apologies, she surmises her swift motion must have knocked the wind out of him. His labored breathing and groans of protest subside shortly after they sit, at which moment, she finds her hands still resting on his arms.

At this realization Cora releases her grip, and shifts in her seat until she faces forward. She pulls his jacket more fully across her broad shoulders, accepting his kind gesture with quiet gratification. "I'm sorry," She tells him once more. "I hope you're alright," Her gaze fixates at her hands folded in her lap. And truthfully, she's too embarrassed from the incident that meeting his eye seems an unlikely task.

"I'm fine," Robert assures her smoothly. "I just thought you might be cold. It's a bit chilly out here." His tone is conversational, which helps ease the tension that's been felt between them as of late.

She casts a shy glance in his direction, noticing he's only in his dinner shirt and waistcoat at present. "Won't you be cold?" She wonders, an undulation of uncertainty in her inquiry.

He shrugs, "So long as you're comfortable it makes no difference to me." His face turns towards hers, and the regret in his pale blue eyes send a shiver down her spine.

Cora looks away, focusing on the rays of light dancing across the horizon's edge while the sun continues its descent. "I spoke with the lift attendant this afternoon," She changes the course of her conversation to a more neutral topic. "He seems to think if we continue at the rate we set this morning, we'll dock at New York Harbor in four days."

"That's much quicker than last year's crossing," Robert notes after a moment's contemplation.

The brevity of their voyage, causes her stomach to somersault unexpectedly, and a hand flutters to her middle. The prospect of reuniting with her family so soon produces the opposite affect than what she's conveyed to the rest of the world over the last few days. Her sense of urgency now dwindles very much like the light cast off from the setting sun.

Her thoughts must manifest in a more visible fashion because she hears her husband's gentle voice, bringing her back to reality. "Something on your mind, my dear?"

Cora turns her attention back to him. There's obvious concern written across his face, it appears to take up permanent residency there. She lowers her gaze to the polished hardwood floor and lifts her shoulders, "I suppose I'm just anxious to get home. I don't very well know how Mother and Father will receive me." Her mouth twists off to the side as she continues to explain, "It's not everyday you're forced to bury one child and then...look into the face of another one with the same likeness."

They sit on the top deck, cloaked in a darkness permeated by the soft glow of lights strung about the ship's railing. A string orchestra begins warming up as part of the nightly entertainment for the first class passengers that will soon swarm the majority of the deck. And if it weren't for the circumstances that brought them into such a setting, Cora might suggest they join the revelers.

But she wasn't in a celebratory mood. In fact, she doubted she ever would be again.

It's at that moment, she pipes up rigidly when her cryptic words are met with nothing but silence, "Perhaps it was a mistake to leave Downton." Her entire body tenses, and she springs forth from the chair before pacing towards the railing.

Her hands grip the cool metal, eyelids squeezed shut while she forces her breathing to come in and out at even intervals. Now wasn't the time for doubts. This was hardly the place for her to lose her nerve. Yet, thinking of how her parents might find her presence less than comforting only stirs up uncertainties twinged with guilt.

"You don't mean that," Comes his deep voice, from her left. The close proximity of his voice rattles her as she didn't even hear his footsteps scraping along the floor as he moved to end up beside her.

Exhaling another heavy sigh, Cora leans forward until her elbows press into the rail, her face concealed by two palms. When she's certain her emotions are in check, she peers over at her husband. Robert's propped up similarly so they're practically the same height now. He regards her thoughtfully as if trying to read her mind in a single look.

She stares back at him similarly, unable to find anything concrete. So she poses the question that's been gnawing away at her mind for days, "When you look at me...do you see a dead girl?"

At first he arches a brow, his mouth slightly gaped as if to judge whether or not she's serious. But when her solemn expression doesn't waver, Robert expels a heavy breath, and reaches out to cup the side of her face with his palm. Slowly shaking his head, he confesses with a sincerity that cannot be fabricated. "No, I see my wife."

The heaviness inside of her lessens. However she believes he's the only person whose ever regarded them as separate yet similar parts when Cecelia was still living. She turns away from him, looking back across the dark waves rustling all around them. Her eyes burn from the salty sea breeze that sprays up when the boat passes over a series of choppy waves. The following words come out so quietly, she doubts he can hear them above the ardent hiss of the ocean. "They'll see _her_ when they look at me."

She feels him lean into her, muttering softly into her ear, "I don't see her. I only see you."

Even though she knows this isn't possible. Cora appreciates the sweetness in his sentiment, and feels a calmness in her belly that restores her sense of purpose in making this journey.


End file.
